Closed For Renovations
by Saturn Girl
Summary: Anya and Xander try to repair the damaged Magic Box...among other things. Spoilers for season six.


I hate him.  
  
I mean, look at him! Wearing that tight, muscle-enhancing t-shirt and the jeans that make his buns look so darned attractive. The same pair we got when we were caught pleasuring each other in The Gap dressing room and had to buy a lot of clothes to persuade the sales girl not to call the police.  
  
Jerk. He knows how aroused I get whenever I see those jeans. How dare he wear the sexy pants when we're broken up!  
  
I wish I could throw him out, but he still has to reconstruct the loft and stairwell in the shop. I wanted to hire a real carpenter, preferably female with a broken heart and a twisted imagination, but no-o-o-o- o...Xander volunteered to do the work at a substantially reduced rate. Weasel! He knows I could never pass up a bargain, especially since I can't reopen the shop and earn any money until the repairs are complete. I think this whole rebuilding-the-shop-with-me scheme was his way of trying to trick me into liking him again.  
  
Well, it's not going to work! It's over. I've got the Magic Box and my renewed vengeance career and I don't have time for a stupid man in my life anymore. He can do his dumb carpentry work naked but it won't mean a thing because I'm not even going to look at him. I'm certainly not going to think about the fact that I haven't had intercourse in 74 days, 9 hours and 23 minutes. I have this counter to sand, and display cases to paint, and lots and lots of other tasks to keep me occupied. See? This is me not looking and not caring one gosh darned bit...and why oh WHY does he have to distract me by stretching his muscles like that?  
  
Grrr. Not. Looking. Sand the counter and think about what a cowardly little boy he is for not going through with our wedding. The one that was all HIS idea, the one where he left ME to explain to all the guests that there would be no ceremony, the one where I had to return all the valuable presents and envelopes filled with money. I cried for days after he tore out my heart and backed over it with his stupid purple car until there was nothing left but a mushy little spot. Have I mentioned how glad I am that Willow trashed that ugly thing? And how the insurance company denied his claim and he still has to make payments on a car that doesn't exist anymore?  
  
Ha. Ha! This is me laughing at everything bad that happens to Xander Harris! Ha, ha, ha!  
  
He stops hammering and looks over his shoulder at me. "What's so funny?"  
  
Sand, sand, sand. "Nothing. Go back to work. You're not being paid to flap your lip, Mr. Harris."  
  
Wonderful. Now he has that kicked puppy look in his eyes, the one that makes me want to kick him even harder because he has absolutely no right to act like he's the one who's hurting.  
  
"An, I asked you not to call me that."  
  
"Don't 'An' me! I am the employer, you are the employee, and as we have a strictly professional relationship, I refuse to operate on a casual first name basis. And don't stand there dawdling while I'm paying you by the hour. Start laboring, you...you...laborer!"  
  
"Whatever, BOSS." He darkens and turns back to the strut he's working on and hammers even harder than before. What an attitude! No wonder he was fired from so many of his jobs. Loser. What did I ever see in him? He always manages to foul things up. I mean, how hard is it to walk down a 20- foot aisle? A brain damaged monkey could do something as simple as that, but no, not Xander Harris.  
  
Huh, he already finished the support beams. That was fast. He said he didn't think he'd get them done until this afternoon. You'll never catch me telling him, but Xander does seem to do a decent job building things. He really likes doing this stuff. Me, I'm sick of sneezing from all the sawdust and my nails have never looked more disgusting.  
  
Hallie and I are having a day of beauty next week. Not only am I looking forward to a manicure, but there are always plenty of women complaining about their love lives at the salon. Great opportunities for vengeance! The Scooby Gang has been relatively tolerant about my vengeance duties once I promised them I'd only grant nuisance wishes, nothing lethal or reality altering. Xander even told me he could "learn to deal with it," to which I promptly responded that I stopped seeking his approval the day he dumped me. Who cares what he thinks? Not me, not anymore.  
  
Xander slings his hammer into the back of his tool belt and turns to me, hands on his hips. "I've been at this for three hours and I'm getting a cramp in my shoulder. Do I have your permission to take a fifteen minute break, BOSS?"  
  
"Fine. Take your legally mandated loafing break. I'm watching the clock, so don't even think about taking a second longer. We have a very tight deadline to keep, you know."  
  
"Sheesh! Quit crackin' the bullwhip, would ya? We're still ahead of schedule. Once McEnroe delivers the new materials I'll be able to get the stairs finished and we should be right on track for the reopening next week, just like I promised."  
  
"And we know how great you are at keeping your promises, don't we?"  
  
He blusters up and starts to say something, but stops and shakes his head with a frustrated scowl. He grabs a Dr. Pepper out of the portable cooler and swipes the icy can across his sweaty forehead before collapsing into a chair.  
  
He sits there quietly for a few minutes, sipping his drink and staring at the empty bookcase that used to be filled with magical texts. We burned a lot of the old books a few weeks ago. They weren't much good for Scooby research anymore, anyway...not after Willow absorbed all their contents. I wanted to sell the blank volumes as antique journals and sketch books, but Giles was concerned there might be residual magic imbued in the pages and wouldn't allow it.  
  
Honestly! How are we going to break even this fiscal quarter if Giles keeps ignoring opportunities for profit?  
  
While Xander rests and looks off where the books used to be I can see him slowly stroking his cheek with his thumb. He does that a lot now, but I don't think he realizes it. Not that I watch him all the time, mind you...I'm just saying it's a new annoying personal tic that I've observed.  
  
The scars Willow gave him are still there, three pinkish-white lines making his face look like it was mauled by an animal. He hasn't shown it to me, but Dawn says he has an even bigger one on his chest. I suppose I should be pleased that he's disfigured, but for some reason the scars make me upset.  
  
It's almost like seeing the big stain on my favorite dress; the one Xander bought me the day he got his first decent paycheck. It looked fabulous with my strappy red shoes and the skirt was perfect for dancing. I have so many wonderful memories of the times I wore that outfit...until some drunk moron at the club spilled wine all over me. Gosh, I loved that dress, and now it's completely ruined. I'll never wear it dancing again. I'll never feel Xander's fingers teasing the zipper in the back...  
  
Damn you, Xander. Can't I just enjoy hating you? Why do you have to make everything hurt so much?  
  
Oblivious (as usual) to my pain, Xander crushes the empty soda can and flings it at the wheelbarrow filled with splintered boards and debris. Surprise, he misses the mark and the can skids across the floor. He shuffles over to my counter, and he has that nervous "I'm going to regret this" look on his face that he always gets when he thinks I'm not going to like what he has to say...which is pretty much anything that comes out of his mouth these days.  
  
"What? Need more time to goldbrick?"  
  
"Cut it out! I want to ask you something." He anxiously checks out my reaction. A few weeks ago Xander made the mistake of inviting me out for coffee and I can feel the same angry flush build up in my cheeks. I think he can tell I'm seconds away from telling him exactly where he can cram his conciliatory non-fat vanilla latte.  
  
"Work-related, and completely professional," he adds quickly. He swallows and brushes sawdust off the counter while he works up the courage to continue. "I, um...I was wondering if you sell any herbs or charms or anything that could, uh...make these go away." He blushes as he points out his scars.  
  
"Why? Worried women would never date an ugly circus freak like you?"  
  
Yes! Again with the crestfallen! Nothing I say could ever compare to the hell Xander put me through, but I'll gladly take whatever tiny miseries I can wring out of him.  
  
"N-no, that's not it. I just don't want...never mind. Forget I asked!" He starts to storm off in a huff.  
  
"Oh, don't be such a big baby. Tell me why you want it, and maybe I can fix you up with something."  
  
I already know the reason, but I want to see him squirm. It *is* all about looking good for a woman. Yesterday he told Buffy that he was seeing somebody. So much for all his claims that he still loves me and wants to work things out! I knew he was full of crap. He doesn't really want me. He just misses having The Sex and he got tired of waiting.  
  
Xander glances down at his feet, reluctant to answer. Here it comes. Prove to me that you're a vain, fickle man ruled by the needs of your penis.  
  
"Willow's coming home next week, and I don't want her to see me like this," he mumbles.  
  
"Bull puckey!" I toss my electric sander at Xander's head and he barely has time to duck out of the way. "You want to look gorgeous for your new orgasm friend!"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
He has the nerve to act clueless when I've caught him in a bald-faced lie? That's it. Where's the nail gun? I'm going to kill him!  
  
"Don't try to deny it! I heard you talking to Buffy!" Darn. When I lunge for the nail gun he grabs it and holds it away from me, so I'll have to settle for giving him the The Glare. He doesn't know how lucky he is that vengeance demons don't have heat vision.  
  
"Knock it off! Anya, I don't know what..."  
  
"Who is it? Is it that trampy girl with the plastic breasts who tends bar at The Bronze? The one who giggles and twirls her hair whenever she waits on you? Ooh, Xander. I'm so fascinated by your lame construction stories. Will you let me touch your cordless drill sometime?"  
  
Now he's decided to stop pretending to be confused and shifts to phony indignation. He even got his eyebrow to do that angry twitchy thing. Oh, you may be a good liar but you're not fooling me, buster!  
  
"Not that it's any of your beeswax, Little Miss Spawned-with-Spike, but no - I do not have a new orgas- I mean, girlfriend I'm trying to impress!"  
  
"Liar-liar-sexy-pants-on-fire! Then why did you tell Buffy you were seeing somebody, huh? You're not trying to make her jealous, are you? Because that would be beyond pathetic. Face it, Xander. You'll always be the goofy sidekick, never the leading man!"  
  
"Aargh!" He stomps off towards the back, his arms folded tightly over his head as if he's trying to block out the sound of my voice, then spins around and shakes his fist at me.  
  
"Oh, I'm seeing somebody, all right. You bet I am!"  
  
"I knew it! I knew you'd found somebody else! I hope you and your harlot have infrequent, mediocre sex and share many horrible diseases together!"  
  
"There is no girlfriend! When I told Buffy I was seeing somebody, I meant I was seeing a frickin' therapist!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.  
  
Huh? My wrath quickly dissipates into nothing as I shrink to the size of a Norwelshian ice gnome.  
  
"You're in therapy?"  
  
=== TO BE CONTINUED === 


End file.
